


Quietly, Subtly

by hewwow (nonworth)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, question mark at lovers, that's it it's just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 15:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16558019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonworth/pseuds/hewwow
Summary: There were whispers, implications, subtle glances and lingering memories.But just as sudden as the realization was, so was his fall.





	Quietly, Subtly

It started out as admiration.

Well, no. Maybe not quite admiration. Respect, perhaps, but Hanzo wouldn’t go so far as to say it started out with _admiration._

And yes, the way the cowboy acted was completely _ridiculous_ at times, with his hat that _had_ to be inconvenient when it came to fast-paced battles, spurs that jingled and were never good for stealth missions, a serape that he was sure some day going to get caught in that mechanical arm of his.

But all these physical aspects that Hanzo disapproved of, McCree made up with his skills.

The ability to gauge where every enemy stood around him, impeccable aim, stupidly good reflexes. He took everything in stride, his witty mind coming up with solutions to any battle in a split second and essentially, toying with the enemy.

_“What is your secret?”_ he had once asked, having witnessed the red glow enveloping the cowboy as he shot an impossible amount of bullets from his six-rounder, taking down at least ten Talon agents at once. _“What you did was… impossible.”_

_“There’s no secret,”_ the cowboy had replied gruffly, corner of his lip turning up into one of those begrudging smirks. _“Just a damn good shot is all.”_

And indeed, a damn good shot he was. No one escaped his vision, and almost all bullets he shot hit their marks. But no one is invincible, and there was always at least one time during a mission where Hanzo would spot an enemy that McCree had missed, saving the cowboy the trouble of taking them down. McCree would pause at the sound of a falling body, squint up at Hanzo’s perch, and tilt his hat in gratitude while his lips pursed and eyes shone with stubborn challenge.

_“I still don’t trust you,”_ he would say, taking the cigar out from between his lips and pointing it up at Hanzo before dropping it to the floor and crushing it. Hanzo would simply scoff at him in response as he turned to scan the horizon again.

He never could get mad at McCree for being so verbally ungrateful, because he’d always find a bottle of cheap sake by his door that his brother swore he never bought. After seeing small traces of ash next to the bottle, he knew, and would subtly raise his refilled gourd toward the cowboy’s direction in cheers the next day when they made eye contact. The cowboy would stare, scoff, then go back to whatever it was that he was doing.

An honorable, self-assured man who could shoot a man in the head without so much as sending a glance in his direction.

He was one to be respected.

And respect is what Hanzo gave McCree.

The scathing remarks and criticisms he had hissed out in the beginning ceased, instead being replaced by occasional, gruff compliment, and at one point during a downtime at the base, Hanzo had haughtily apologized for his initial behaviors.

_“I should not have underestimated you as such,”_ he had muttered out, chin raised and not looking apologetic at all at first glance. _“There are many points about you that I now respect. You have some skill.”_

McCree, that damned cowboy, would spot with his sharpshooter eyes the tinge of red that appeared on the archer’s otherwise icy face. His lips would twist around his cigar into an amused smile, eyes finally losing their hard edge and simply reflecting humor as he replied with a _“Why, thank ya kindly, darlin’.”_

And before he realized it, they had become fast friends.

Every evening was spent outside on the edge of the cliffs, watching the sun set as they quietly shared stories in between sips of whiskey and sake. Only when they felt the exhaustion tugging at their eyelids would they make their way back into the shared bedroom, silently bidding the other good night before tiptoeing into their beds, trying not to wake the other agents up.

And he really did enjoy spending his time with the cowboy, however shocking it may have been to both himself and his brother. It was not uncommon that Hanzo would catch Genji simply staring at them as they bickered over whether tea or coffee was the superior morning drink.

_“It is nice that you have made a friend here,”_ Genji had said to him one day, when they were alone together in meditation. Hanzo had snorted at this.

_“’Friend’ is a strong term to use for our relationship. We are simply coworkers with similar interests.”_

Yet, he found himself thinking about the occasional, genuine smile that lit up McCree’s face every so often. The sorrows they spilled to each other, the demons they were fighting together. The simple and complicated conversations they would have over alcohol, petty debates and in-depth talk about battle tactics. How _comfortable_ he found himself to be around the cowboy.

And that brings us to this moment.

They were on a mission in Hanamura, guarding the castle from being taken over by Talon because high powers knew, Hanzo would rather die than let this terrorist organization bring back the clan.

And it seemed that he truly would die in this mission.

It was funny, how he had longed so much to set foot into Japan again, to see the very cherry blossoms that danced on the winds, obscuring his vision every once in a while as he ran.

And then he was cornered, on the edge of a cliff— _ironic, considering that that was his favorite place now back in Gibraltar—_ Talon agents slowly closing on him, predatory gazes and smiles on him as they realized that they finally had the chance to take down the great Shimada leader.

And perhaps, luck truly was on the other side today in the form of a bullet that tore through the twin dragons he released, piercing through his stomach and making him stagger as the dragons devoured all else.

“Agent Shimada, you have received a critical blow, sending contact to Agent Mercy…”

Athena’s voice waned in and out of his ears. He thought he thanked her, but he wasn’t sure.

He looked down at the blood gushing out. It had hit something important, that was for certain.

“—zo. Hanzo! Talk to me, you damn bastard!”

It was as if all he needed was for McCree to say his name for it all to really fall into place. The dragons never did come back to him, instead staring into his eyes, unmoving as they stood among the charred remains of Talon agents.

He took a step back, trying to get his balance and find his footing through his increasingly clouding vision.

And it all _made sense._

“McCree,” he started, strained, tired, _relieved that he could finally put a name to this strange phenomenon that had been going on for the past few months._

“Hanzo?!”

“McCree.”

The dragons closed their eyes, bowed their heads to him before fading.

“I think…” he whispered. “I think that I was in lo--…”

McCree never did get to hear what the archer had to say, only hearing the rush of wind and crashing of waves that followed the crackling of rocks and his abrupt intake of breath.

But he had a feeling that he knew exactly what Hanzo wanted to say, and simply let his cigar hang from his lips as he watched the sun set, the taste of sake that he’d come to enjoy slowly fading from his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Sleep Deprived tm and i have no idea if what i wrote made any sense but it was a nice time killer LOL


End file.
